


Every Move You Make

by LemonTwist



Series: The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings Tumblr Confessions [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Self-teasing, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonTwist/pseuds/LemonTwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by "Kinky Hobbit Confession" #2600: "I want to watch Thranduil bathe. Like quietly sneak into his bathing chambers and touch myself in a dark corner."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Move You Make

Frustrated, you made your way back through the halls of the king's palace. What a day! You had begun the day with a bright feeling of determination and had set about the day's duties but it seemed that today was the day all would go wrong for you. The spiders, though cleared from the forest as soon as a nest was discovered, wove giant webs, thick and sticky menaces that often fell into the river that fed the palaces sewer system. Today you went to help remove the problem. Thankfully, the clog was on the upriver side of the palace so the water was clean but the webs were as slippery wet as they were sticky dry. You had stepped on a rock that was covered in the foul substance and had found yourself pulled underwater. You had hit your head in the process and had had to pretend that you merely slipped beneath the river's surface for a closer look at the problem. The day had continued in this fashion and it seemed as though all the forces of creation had conspired against you.

 

Now you walked through winding corridors and narrow staircases, determined to remove yourself from the palace and reach home before any more ill luck could befall you. But as it happened, you passed the king's private quarters and heard a low moan. Thinking your sire might have injured himself, you peeked through the door.

 

And there, in the large, warm pool, was King Thranduil, standing entirely nude, his back was to you and he was sitting so the water came up to the level of his shoulder blades. His head was tilted to the side and he was rubbing a soapy washcloth down his neck and over the muscular expanse of his shoulders. His pale skin glistened in the low lamplight and as the warm water washed over him he repeated the moan you had heard earlier. He certainly didn't appear to be injured. The soft sound caused a strange reaction in you, though. Your heart sped and you became aware of a tingling sensation between your legs.

 

Suddenly, he dove beneath the water, wetting his hair, before standing up fully. You had never seen your king like this. You had always felt there was a vulnerability in nudity, yet he conveyed nothing but confidence and authority. His hair hung long and loose down his back and his torso gracefully narrowed to buttocks that were high and taut. Mesmerized, you sank to your knees behind the partially open door, keeping him in full view while remaining concealed. He reached for more soap to put on his cloth and he resumed bathing. He washed himself in slow, deliberate motions, running the cloth in circles over his arms and chest, turning to the side so that you saw the ripples of his stomach, the bulge of his pectoral muscles, the flesh that designated him as male. You had served him all your life, had always acknowledged him as handsome, yet you had never dreamed that his heavy robes hid such beauty.

 

You hadn't realized that you had spread your legs as you watched him, your hands resting lightly on your knees. Slowly, you dragged your fingers up over your thighs, through the cloth, feeling bumps form on your skin from the light contact. You undid the lacings of your leggings and slipped your hand inside. You had needed full range of motion today so your clothes were loose and easily accommodated the motions of your fingers.

 

You began by lightly running your fingertips through your slit, surprised at how wet you had become. With a single finger, you gently circled your core, widening your legs still further. You kept your eyes locked on your king and felt the dampness increase. You would never have this opportunity again and you were determined to make the most of it. So you maintained your slow caresses, teasing yourself into higher arousal, always keeping your eyes locked on the glorious sight of your naked sire at his bath. The cloth he held in his hand traveled lower and he began washing his impressive length. As he touched himself, he began to grow hard and you had to bite back a moan. Instead, you brought your other hand to caress your breasts, realizing they had grown sensitive. You pinched your nipples in your hand and felt a jolt deep inside you.

 

The hand that had been at your chest wandered down to caress your belly before reaching between your legs. You used this hand to hold the lips of your vulva open as you continued to stimulate yourself with the other. The finger that was circling your core had grown slick with your moisture and you briefly dipped it inside before drawing it out again. You continued in this way, watching your king as he pleasured himself while you pleasured yourself, circling yourself softly then dipping your finger in, eventually using your thumb to apply pressure to your bud. The pleasure was growing and would soon become unbearable, but you were an elf and had more self-control than humans had. You sobbed silently as you increased the pressure on your clit. You should have come by now but you were determined to draw this out for as long as you could.

 

He had dropped the cloth, giving up all pretense of washing himself, and was now simply stroking himself at an even tempo, reveling in the sensations he produced in his own body. Just as you were. Though you were no maiden, this felt like the most intimate encounter you had ever had. He had one hand on his cock, pumping, while the other wandered down to cup his sac. The tempo of his hand increased and you altered yours, subconsciously, in a similar fashion. You were drenched in your own juices as you watched, panting, waiting, for what, you couldn't say.

 

Then suddenly, he dropped his head back, his eyes closed, water droplets clinging to his throat and chest, the lean muscles of his arms taut with exertion. He bared his teeth in a savage expression and growled, the deep sound of his voice resonating in the stone room.

 

“Come on!”

 

And you did, in a dark hallway, against your own hands, writhing and shaking, fighting desperately to remain silent. Tears of ecstasy too long denied rolled down your face as you continued to come, afraid it would never stop, terrified you would never feel this way again in your life.

 

Finally, you stilled. All was quiet in the room. Thranduil had donned a dressing gown and was walking towards a door at the far side. Just before he reached it, he called out without ever looking over his shoulder.

 

“Such deep passion for one's sovereign is to be commended, don't you think. But do join me next time instead of crouching in that dark hallway. It is often cold there and I should hate to see such a devoted servant fall ill.”

 

With that, he swept out of the room, closing the door behind him. You remained on the floor, paralyzed by shock. He had known. The whole time you were there, he had known. He had not seemed to mind, though. And somehow you had known, that as he spoke to you, though he did not show his face, he had smiled

 


End file.
